


Providence

by kriegersan



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Homophobic Language, M/M, Shotgunning, Squick, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8583736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriegersan/pseuds/kriegersan
Summary: “Trevor, what the fuck are you talking about?” He took a drag, blew the smoke away, eyes hanging on Trevor’s lit up expression. “The fuck do you care about family?”(Pre-game, 1990.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: There is in-character misogyny, homophobia, and opinions that the author does not condone. Lots of vomit and discussion of various bodily functions and fluids. Mentioned/inferred canon-typical childhood abuse.

**1990**

“--watch where you’re goin’, motherfucker.”

It took about five seconds for the smart-ass expression to melt off the man’s face from one look at Trevor, taking in the way his face had gone from ambivalent to _murderous_. 

“What did you just call me?” said Trevor, his voice colder than the dead of winter. His hand had curled around the neck of his beer, knuckles white.

“A motherfucker. _Dumb_ motherfucker.” Trevor’s breathing came heavier, his eyes wildly moving in their sockets, red with the alcohol they’d steadily injested in the past few hours, wasting time and money between small jobs. The man chuckled somewhat nervously over his beer, raised it to his lips. “Problem?”

“You’re gonna have a _big_ fucking problem if you don’t take it the fuck back.” Trevor moved in closer. 

“Now why the fuck would I do that?” He killed his beer, kept his eyes on Trevor’s face, “Mother _fucker_.” He was just some dumb townie, had no idea that Trevor was packing, had already killed a man with the same gun only one night before.

Five seconds happened to be the same amount of time for Michael to slide between them, beer sloshing over his knuckles, hands up as he extended the proverbial olive branch. The dive bar they’d inhabited was so busy in the latest hours of night, his chest brushed against the other man’s, one hand extended to nudge Trevor back. 

The last thing they needed was another dead body on their hands. “Hey, man, that wasn’t very nice.” He gave his best used car salesman grin. “Think you could apologize to my friend here for your unnecessary comment?”

“‘Nice?’ Aww, did I hurt his feelings?” He snorted, giving Michael a once-over. “He your boyfriend, faggot?”

Michael’s mouth went impossibly flat. “Boyfriend? Jesus, no, we ain’t queers. I was just lookin’ out for your sorry ass, really.” He stepped back, gestured to Trevor. “If you’d like to test your luck with him, though, be my fuckin’ guest. I’m not gonna stop you.”

He stepped back, let Trevor get all up in his face. Michael sipped his beer, watched as Trevor and the man exchanged words for a few moments, his own anger simmering hot and barely tempered under the surface of his skin.

Then, Trevor’s elbow reeled back, smashing the man over the face with his bottle, glass shattering as it impacted with his forehead. The man reeled back, covering his face, and Michael lunged for Trevor’s arm as security started to approach. They couldn’t stay there and risk it, given the trail of crime left in their wake.

It was cold outside. The shitty bar they’d frequented was the only joint in town, the light as yellow and murky as piss in a snowbank, the only real artifact for miles around. It was a good twenty minute trek through the snow back to the motel, having left the car behind. It’d started snowing, white and powdery, fat snowflakes dusting Trevor’s hair.

“What the fuck, T. Does ‘low profile’ mean anything to you at all?” He made a sound, shook his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

“He fuckin’ deserved it, Mikey,” Trevor barked back, head low as he trudged ahead of Michael, feet making twin paths in the snowbank. “Calling me a motherfucker-- who the fuck does he think he is?”

“You can’t just go breaking bottles over the head of every asshole who acts like an asshole, you asshole. Who the fuck cares what he called you?” His eye twitched a little at the statement. Michael pulled his chin into his chest, cheeks puffing out as he breathed slow. “It ain’t worth it to attract that kinda heat.”

“We have a four mile walk through the snow to look forward to, Mikey. No heat here.” Trevor bared his teeth. “Just the frosty witch titted agony of bailing outta the only reasonable bar in the entire shitty fucking township.”

There was blood on his knuckles from the man he’d bludgeoned. Michael’s eyes wandered up the length of his arm. The cold certainly didn’t seem to bother him, although Trevor walked faster than him, almost like he was trying to get away. Michael caught up.

“What the hell did you get all bent out of shape for, anyway? Grand scheme of shitty things people have said to you, I’m sure that wasn’t--”

Trevor practically gnashed at his face, Michael jerking his head back in surprise. “ _Nobody_ calls me a motherfucker, Townley. Nobody!”

He raised his hands in defense, before pocketing them once more. “Okay, point taken. Relax, T. Didn’t mean to offend.”

They walked in silence for a while, ducking their heads as an ambulance raced past. Trevor glaring at the ground ahead. At some point he’d started to shiver a little, the threadbare hoodie he was wearing not doing much against the elements this far out. It was dark outside, but Michael could make out the glisten of the snowfall as it coated Trevor’s eyelashes, made them glisten in the starlight.

The fact of the matter was that they didn’t really know each other that well. They’d been working together for a few months, sure, but he was hardly the type to spill his guts for no good reason. Trevor didn’t seem the type either, but he wasn’t an idiot, had put a few things together based on drunken chatter, self-deprecating jokes. 

Trevor hated his father. Trevor hated and loved his mother. They had a few things in common. It was complicated.

Michael drew in a breath, shrugged his shoulders. “You’re right,” he said, attempting to break the silence. “Bastard had it coming. You didn’t give it to him, I would’ve.” 

Trevor snorted, tossed him a grin. “Fuck yeah you would’ve. You act all cool, Mikey, but deep down you’re a real animal.” 

“An animal, huh.” He shook his head, laughed under his breath.

Eyes glinting, Trevor bumped his shoulder with his own. “See that’s the problem with the world these days. Everybody’s always trying to control their natural, _primal_ reaction. Pretend like shit doesn’t affect ‘em. Me, I say fuck that.”

“Oh yeah? That’s what you say?” 

He nodded sharply. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you set me on him when he went for your manhood, Mikey.” He tapped the side of his nose, laughed. “You didn’t want to show him that he got to you, didn’t want to react to it, so you _allowed_ me the privilege of doing it for you.”

Michael bristled. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Something wrong with being a faggot, Michael?” 

His fingers curled into fists inside of his pockets. “Gonna be something wrong with your face in a second if you don’t fuck off.”

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound absorbed by the trees, dusted in white, along the roadside. “Ooh, Mikey. I think I’ve hit one of your many--” His eyes wandered Michael’s concealed form salaciously, “-- _many_ soft spots.”

“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that.”

“An _honest_ piece of shit. I value my integrity above all else, M. Not many of God’s noble creatures can claim to do the same.” 

“Uh-huh, that’s exactly what God wants. A real honest-to-God _crook_. Real fuckin’ nice.”

“What can I say?” Trevor gesticulated a little wildly. “I am particularly godlike.”

Michael snorted. “Yeah, you’re something, alright.”

“What does that make you, then, I wonder,” Trevor said, his grin lopsided and wild.

They stopped for more beer at the 24 hour store around the corner from the motel, cracking them in the icy parking lot under the flickering sign. Michael killed two in quick succession, the white map of features around him starting to fuzz pleasantly. He belched, crushed the can against his chest, tossing it over his shoulder into the snowbank.

Trevor had hunkered down on the curb, knee bouncing as he chugged at his beer. His teeth clicked around the rim of the can, eyes scanning the group of rowdy teenage boys in coats and hats came spilling down the street, pushing each other around, loud and rambunctious.

One of them, a skinny kid with patchy acne and long hair, wandered over, coerced by the rest of his compatriots. “Hey, my man,” he wheezed, traipsing over to Trevor. His hands were shaking. He didn’t even approach Michael, likely put off by his closed off expression. “Think you can hook us up with some booze?”

Trevor’s eyebrows rose up to his hairline. “What, you don’t have a fake ID?” He tossed a look at Michael. “Fuckin’ kid doesn’t have a fake ID, M. Ain’t that rich.”

Michael rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything. Watching Trevor terrorize the unwitting locals, well, sometimes it could be pretty entertaining.

The kid withered a little, looked back to his friends. “Look, man, can you just--”

“Can I just what?” Trevor shot to his feet, the kid stepping back, alarmed. “Encourage and enable _illegal_ underage drinking? You think I’m that kind of guy, the kind of man who’d poison the young people of America with this fucking swill, this destroyer of families, this nuclear waste that purges everything good and pure in the world?” 

Trevor shook his beer at him, grinning manically as he stepped back. The kid’s eyes dipped down to Trevor’s knuckles, still tacky with dried blood from earlier that night.

“Jesus. Forget I asked,” the kid spat, uneasiness written all over his face. “Freak.” He turned back to his friends, walked away. They pushed and shoved at him as he re-entered the fold, before the group of them disappeared around the corner.

Michael chuckled, shook his head as the remainder of the six-pack dangled from his fingertips. “Wow, T. Nice soapboxing, there.” He fumbled in his pockets for his smokes. “Like you’ve never done anything illegal in your life or anything.”

“Hey, I didn’t get up to any of that shit until I met you,” he bit back, dumping the foamy end of his beer out into the snow. The can quickly followed.

Michael lit a cigarette. “You didn’t get _caught_ , at least,” he said, under his breath.

“That’s the problem with this country, these days. These young boys running loose, running wild, breaking the law, no parents giving a shit what they’re up to. Breaks my fuckin’ heart.” He stepped into Michael’s personal space, until he could smell the sourness of his breath, visible in the cool air. “ _Families_ , Michael. Nobody gives a fuck about families anymore.”

“Trevor, what the fuck are you talking about?” He took a drag, blew the smoke away, eyes hanging on Trevor’s lit up expression. “The fuck do you care about family?”

“That’s what I’m saying, Mikey! Your father was a deadbeat, my father was a deadbeat, and look where the fuck we ended up!” He extended his arms out, the flickering sign overhead a poor excuse for a spotlight. The green hue made him look sickly, his face pale in the winter chill. 

“Nobody gives a fuck about the _real_ issues plaguing this nation today,” he continued. “They just eat up whatever the news media tells ‘em. Keeps everyone afraid, makes ‘em better consumers. That, my friend, is the real truth behind the ‘American dream.’ Work your shitty job for shitty pay! Buy more shit! Make more money! You’ll still be alone and miserable, but it feels better blowin’ your brains out inside of a mansion instead of a trailer park.”

“Whatever you say, T.” He shook his head, sighed. “You crazy fuck.”

“You know I’m right, M.” His head bobbed erratically, his hand waving. “Everybody knows it, but nobody has balls enough to say it.”

He couldn’t resist the bait, laid out so easily like that. “You know, Trevor, for someone not even born in this country you sure got a lot of opinions about it.”

Trevor’s expression went sour. “You know, _Michael_ , for someone with half a brain you sure seem pretty _Goddamn_ eager to see it bashed out all over the fucking pavement.” 

Michael stuck his finger up, started walking. “Come on, asshole, I’m freezing my nuts off out here. Motel’s only a few more blocks.”

“Don’t you try to walk away from this conversation, Mike. You live outside the law, on the fringe of society just the same as I do. Hell, you’re the reason I’m here. You can’t tell me you don’t think it’s true.”

“T, all I can tell ya is that I like money, I want more of it.” He flicked his cigarette into the snowbank alongside the road. “All there is to it.”

“So you really think you’d be right here, right now, if your father hadn’t abandoned you and destroyed your family?” 

“Trev, what the fuck does that have to do with anything? What the fuck, T.” He started to feel hot under the collar despite the weather. Trevor was pissing him off. “Shut the fuck up about that shit, alright? Drop it.”

“You got daddy issues? Aw, did he not hug you enough as an impressionable, young tot?” His eyes went dark, cagey. “Or... did he hug you too much? Come on, you can tell me.” He swung an arm around Michael’s shoulder, tugged him closer. “Let’s have a little heart-to-heart, M.”

He elbowed Trevor in the side, shoving him away violently. Trevor’s foot slid in the slush, and he stumbled, but didn’t fall. Michael looked him dead in the eye, sticking a finger at him, shouting, “Fuck _off_ Trevor. I told you to fucking drop it, so _drop it_ or I will drop _you_.” 

Michael kept walking. Trevor did not.

He got a fair distance away, rolled his eyes as he turned back. “Are you coming?”

Trevor stared at him for a long moment, before he shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, walking towards him. Head down, he looked something like a mangy, kicked puppy. Michael felt a weird pang of guilt over his outburst. He cleared his throat noisily, wordlessly turned and continued walking as Trevor joined him at his side.

The motel was visible, now, the red of the vacancy sign bleeding through the grey haze. The snow was really starting to come down, and Michael felt the winter chill start to seep into his bones. Trevor was unusually quiet beside him. It was unsettling.

“Look,” Michael breathed, after a moment, keeping his gaze forward even as he saw Trevor’s eyes snap towards him. “I don’t care about that shit. It doesn’t eat me up inside that my dad wasn’t around, and I don’t need a shoulder to cry on.” His mouth snapped shut, and the muscle in his jaw twitched. His voice softened as he murmured, “I don’t get why it fucking matters to you at all.”

Trevor balked. “Why _wouldn’t_ it matter to me? Is it a crime to _care_ , Michael? We’ve been doing this for what, a few months now, you and me, working together? Living together? I know how you like your coffee, what kind of cigarettes you smoke, what side of the bed you like, fuck, how often you take a dump.” He shrugged again, his motions jerky and a little too honest. “You never talk about yourself. Fucking sue me for being curious. But whatever, forget I fuckin’ asked if you’re going to be such a whiny little bitch about it.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. Then, Michael sighed, pulling the last two beers loose from the plastic rings. He passed one to Trevor like a peace offering. “You got a fucked up way of going about it, Trev. Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

Trevor took the beer, his eyes wide and doe-like. Like he couldn’t believe that Michael hadn’t lived up to his promise, dropped him like a rock. It slipped away quickly, twisted and contorted into something awful. “I’m just saying, Michael-- you must _really_ hate yourself if the first sign of someone showing genuine interest in you makes you want to cut and run.”

Michael stopped walking, chugging the beer in one go. It was that kind of night. When he lowered it, he whipped the empty can off into the treeline, and it didn’t feel like enough when it landed noiselessly in the snowbank. It wasn’t enough. He wanted to hit something.

Part of the reason that he never dwelled on his upbringing was the tight feeling in his chest that it always unearthed. He didn’t _want_ someone to give a shit. He managed to ignore it most days, but maybe it was the booze or Trevor’s incessant fucking needling that made it hard to swallow down. 

He brought a hand to the bridge of his nose, rubbed at the frown lines that threatened to form. “Jesus Christ, Trevor. Jesus _fuckin’_ Christ. Fuck. Why do you _always_ have to keep pushing?”

Trevor’s square palm landed on his shoulder and he wanted to pull away, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. It felt like something was trying to punch its way out of his chest, and he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“I just don’t want to waste my fucking time thinking about that shit, okay?” Michael hissed. “Why the fuck would I want to think about the fact that, at one point, I was all-state, that I could’ve _made_ somethin’ of myself, gone pro, and that didn’t fuckin’ pan out because I couldn’t keep my fucking cool long enough to not show everyone what a real fucking useless piece of shit I am? Why the fuck would I want to think about that, Trev?”

“Michael--”

“Why would I want to think about the fact that the only fuckin’ time my dad ever paid any Goddamn attention to me was when he was screaming in my fucking face or throwing me into the walls or choking the shit out of me and then he just fucking _left_. He fucking _left_ , and yeah, sure, you think it’d be great not to be constantly reminded that you’re worthless, that you were never wanted in the first place, but at least that’s _something_. Real fucking peachy trip down fucking memory lane. Just what I _fuckin’_ needed tonight!”

He could feel his face getting red, his voice rising in volume, but he couldn’t stop himself. “ _Fuck!_ ” 

A car went by, wipers going full speed, the driver rubbernecking to look at the two of them on the roadside. He briefly considered throwing something at it, wanting desperately to break something. His hands curled into fists as he uselessly flexed, trying to expend some of that energy, his nostrils flaring.

“Yeah.” Trevor grinned at him. “Yeah, that’s good. Let it all out.”

Breathing hard, Michael ran a hand over his head. He was practically sweating with it. He couldn’t stop. “You know what the worst fuckin’ part of this all is? You wanna know the worst part?”

“Yeah, Mikey, give me your worst,” said Trevor, his voice low and raspy. “Tell me.” He moved in closer, until they were facing each other, only inches between them.

“The worst part-- deep down, I know he’s right. I drink too much, fuck too much, fight too much-- _fuck_ , I know he’s fucking right about me.” He inhaled sharply, his eyes feeling strange and prickly. He looked away from Trevor, caught the sight of him sucking at his teeth out of his peripherals as his voice lowered to a low rumble. “Never amount to anything more than a low-life, two-bit criminal. Fucking deadbeat, miserable piece of human fucking _garbage_.” 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, like his high school counsellor had told him to do, once. Count to ten. It didn’t make him feel any better, he still wanted to knock someone’s head in.

“I’m no good, T,” he muttered, head down. “I’m no fuckin’ good.”

After a moment, he felt himself being pulled, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He fought back. “Trevor, what the fuck.”

“What do you mean ‘what the fuck?’” Trevor’s voice was muffled in the fabric of his jacket. “It’s a hug, Michael. You may be familiar with the basic concept. Don’t be such a miserable cunt for once in your life.”

“T, let the fuck go of me.”

“No, you asshole, I’m gonna hug you, and you don’t have to like it, but this is happening. Reassert your masculinity some other time, but for now, we’re huggin’.”

“Trevor--”

“ _Hug me_ , you stupid fuck!”

Reluctantly, he reached around, patting Trevor on the back. He looked around, hoping that nobody was watching them. They were right out in the open standing at the mouth of the parking lot, but no one was around. Nothing, save for the washed out light of the street lamps overhead, the steady red flicker of the vacancy sign-- the heartbeat of the frozen wasteland of middle America.

He sighed, starting to feel smothered. “Trevor--”

“I’m not going anywhere on ya, Mikey,” Trevor said, firmly. For some reason, Michael’s stomach twisted at the words. He pulled out of Trevor’s hold, but the hands on his shoulders were strong, tangled into the fabric of his jacket. “You and me, man, we’re like brothers. _Family_. That’s what I’m talking about, M, this is exactly what the fuck I’m talking about! Together we can be so much _more_ than just two-bit criminals.” 

His fingers gripped down around Michael’s shoulders, and it was almost painful.

“Together, Michael, we can be _great_ \-- legends in the underground. Make enough money, build enough of a reputation to put the fear in ‘em, be as brutal and untouchable as we can be. Make it so nobody’ll wanna fuck with us!” His eyes were red and watery and wide, and Michael couldn’t look away. “Together, Michael, we can be _Gods_.”

There was a moment of silence. Then, Michael cracked, smiling crookedly, the tension leaving him in a flood. “You’re fucking crazy, T.”

“Am I? Or is it _everyone else_ who’s fucking crazy? Fucking pretending that they aren’t thinking the same thing, that this thing we accept as normalcy isn’t absolutely batshit insane? Day to day bullshit, answering to the man, trying to get ahead, doing the same boring fucking pencil-pushing job while their livelihood wastes away. No, my friend, they live malcontented in their flimsy facade of civilization while you and I thrive in the dark places that the light can’t quite reach. You and I, we aren’t bound by the chains of this thing that these simpletons accept as reality. _You and I_ , Michael, we ascend that, we--”

“And we do all this by robbing and murdering people. Sure.” He rubbed at his temples. “T, I’m gonna need to be so much more drunk for this kinda conversation.”

Trevor pulled a face, looked over his shoulder. “I, uh-- I think we got whiskey back in the room.”

“I’ll drink fuckin’ gasoline at this point if it means I don’t gotta be halfway-sober for too much longer.”

“Wouldn’t recommend that. Gives you the shits like crazy.”

“Trev, shut up. Why the fuck do you know--”

“So, are we moving?” Trevor kept his arm slung around Michael’s shoulder, pulled at him. He felt unsteady, leaned into Trevor’s side as they walked, despite his better judgment. “Come on, cowboy, one foot in front of the other. Give it the ole college try.”

Michael swallowed thickly, ignored the heat of Trevor’s body next to him. “Just shut the fuck up, Trev.”

The old TV set in the room had only a few channels, mostly static, lighting his miserable little scene as he slouched at the edge of the bed. Michael drank straight from the bottle, hogged most of it, even as Trevor pawed at him for a taste. 

He wiped a hand over his mouth as he watched Trevor throw back a mouthful, eyes dragging downward, over the bob of his Adam’s apple, the stained white shirt he wore. He looked away as Trevor adjusted himself with his free hand, before passing the bottle back to Michael by the neck. 

The bed creaked as Trevor sat down heavily beside him. It sagged in the middle with his weight, dipping down until their legs were touching. Michael leaned away. The room had gone a little loose around him with the alcohol. He didn’t feel any better.

“Cheer up, Mikey,” said Trevor, slapping him roughly on the back. “It ain’t all gloom and doom. Daddy can’t hurt you anymore.”

He sighed into his hand. “Christ. Why the fuck did I tell you any of that? Biggest mistake of my life.”

“On the contrary, Michael, I think this might signal the burgeoning of a beautiful, _intimate_ friendship.” He grinned, all sharp teeth and mirth. “You can be honest with me.”

“Can I? Christ,” he said, knuckles pressing hard into his forehead, “I could _honestly_ use a fuckin’ smoke right now.”

Trevor leaned over the edge of the bed, rescuing the pack and a lighter from Michael’s discarded jacket. He fished out a cigarette, offered it filter side to Michael, wiggling it at him. “Don’t say I never did anything for ya.”

Michael looked down at the smoke, leaned forward and took it between his teeth without thinking. He curled his lips around the filter, used his tongue to slide it to the side of his mouth. Eyes returning to Trevor’s face, he almost flinched at the open look of interest there, but managed to stifle it as Trevor flicked the lighter, offering him the flame.

He leaned in. The first taste of smoke was heavenly, warming him from the inside. He exhaled through his nostrils, leaving them in a haze of grey, pungent and sweltering. 

Michael watched Trevor’s tongue slide out over his teeth, before he backed off. They were too close. 

He gracelessly fell back to the bed, legs dangling over the edge, one hand on his chest as the other held the cigarette. He wasn’t wholly surprised when Trevor did the same, his hair fanning out around him, turning the lighter in his fingertips. His nails were still bloody and battered. 

Michael took a drag, left the cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth. “Still don’t know why the fuck I told you any of that. Fuck.”

“Yeah, you must really regret it, considering you keep bringing it the fuck up.” Trevor shrugged. “I like to think it’s because you’re learning to trust in your good friend-- reliable, dependable Trevor.”

“Now why the fuck would I do something stupid like _trust_ you?” He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, let it dangle above him, watching the smoke billow to the water stained ceiling. “Knowing you, you’re probably gonna find some twisted way to use it against me. I’m gonna wake up with a severed head on my pillow or some shit.”

There was a pause. He kept smoking. Michael still didn’t look at Trevor’s face despite the venom in his voice as he said, “Y’know, Mikey, I think deep down you know we’re more alike than you want to admit, and I think it scares the shit out of you, so you put up this big fuckin’ front like you don’t want me to really _know_ you. You still fuckin’ said all that shit and it meant something. It’s not gonna kill you to be honest for once in your miserable life. Stop being such a fucking pussy about it.”

He withered. “Fuck you.” It was weak, at best.

“No, fuck you, _friend_.” Trevor reached over, leaning as Michael pulled the cigarette away. “Gimme a fucking drag, you selfish asshole.”

Michael stuck his elbow in Trevor’s chest to keep him at a distance. “Get your own, man, fuck off.”

Trevor flopped back to the bed, all lean and lanky, groaned. Michael brought the cigarette back to his mouth, took another mouthful of smoke. He was about to exhale, instead choked as Trevor slid over him. He covered Michael’s lips with his own, pulling the vapour of out his mouth as he breathed.

Michael shoved at his chest, pushed him off, but not away. “T, _what the fuck_.” Despite himself, his fingers curled into Trevor’s filthy shirt, making a fist. “I just told you to--”

“I don’t want my own,” Trevor said, his eyes flicking between Michael’s eyes and mouth, “I want yours.”

Michael went quiet as Trevor’s head dropped down next to his shoulder, the other man half leaning over him. Trevor groaned, low and needy. The cigarette had burned down to the filter, stinging his fingertips. His other hand stayed curled in Trevor’s shirt, his grip tightening.

“I want--” He turned face in towards Michael’s neck, his stubble rough against the skin there. “I want _you_ , Michael.”

It wasn’t the first time Trevor had acted a little weird around him while they were drinking. Probably wouldn’t be the last. He’d mostly been able to ignore it or laugh it off, ignore the crushing feeling in his chest. Until now. Michael chewed the inside of his cheek. 

“Trev--”

He was quieted by a mouth against his own, dry and chaste. Trevor’s forehead pressed against his own, smoothed out the lines there. Michael’s hand felt sweaty around the balled up fabric twisted in his fingers. He still didn’t let go. 

Trevor didn’t pull away, murmuring against his mouth, “I want you. M’not goin’ anywhere.”

“You’re fuckin’ sick, T.” He didn’t push him away. His hand curled and uncurled in Trevor’s shirt as they breathed the same air. The cigarette died in his fingertips.

A low noise left him as Trevor’s mouth pressed against his once more. Michael didn’t open for it, jaw clenched, even as he felt Trevor’s hand move to his neck, thumb rubbing over his jugular. Almost like a threat. He pulled at Trevor’s shirt, not sure whether he wanted him closer, or wanted to punch him in the face. 

He opened his eyes, didn’t even realize he closed them in the first place, scanned every imperfection on Trevor’s face so close to his own. “You’re fuckin’ sick,” he repeated, shakily. It didn’t stop him from pushing up into it, taking control of the kiss immediately, Trevor making a hungry noise against him. 

Michael dropped the cigarette off to the side, other hand seizing the hair on the back of Trevor’s head, holding him in place. It was barely a kiss, closer to a test, challenging himself. He’d never kissed a guy before, never let himself think about it too much. He hadn’t even really known he’d wanted to, in the first place. Maybe he didn't even know himself, not in the way Trevor seemed to see right through him.

Trevor pulled his head out of the hold Michael had on it, shifted to move over him, straddling his thighs. Michael didn’t let go of his shirt, swallowing as he tried to ignore the slithering feeling of revulsion in his gut as he arced up to catch his mouth once more. He didn’t want to make sense of the fact that he was making out with Trevor. It didn’t make sense. It just was.

“You and me,” Trevor said, his words muffled against Michael’s mouth. “You and me against the world, partners in crime.” He moaned, his forehead cool and dry against Michael’s clammy skin. “I was so lonely before I met you. I was so lonely, M.”

Michael’s stomach lurched. This sickly, clenching feeling worked its way up his throat. “Man, shut-- shut the fuck up.” 

He felt like he couldn’t breathe, suffocated under Trevor. He slid a hand under himself to sit up, Trevor staying on his lap, holding onto him like he was his only anchor, the only thing holding him there.

The room felt like it was closing in, Trevor’s face blurry in his eyes, the weight of his body like chains binding him. The TV set crackled and popped with static over his shoulder, and Michael sucked in a deep breath, closed his eyes. A hand rubbed at his shoulder, slid to the back of his neck. He swallowed. Counted to ten.

“Hey-- you good?”

He shook his head, felt his gut churn. The speed at which he pushed Trevor off, onto the floor, and barreled to the bathroom was unprecedented. He barely made it to the toilet before the bile made it up and out of his throat, eyes burning as he bent over, losing most of the booze he’d consumed, the shitty diner burger from earlier. The taste was unbearable, and he coughed, groaning as his hand slipped on the porcelain. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Townley, you’re a mess.” 

His shoulders jumped as Trevor’s hand touched the back of his neck, but he didn’t push him away. Michael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, uncaring of the vomit on his fingers as his stomach rolled again, more coming up and out of him.

Mouth tasting like death, he coughed, spat a thick wad of phlegm into the toilet as he struggled to breathe. Trevor reached past him to flush the toilet, and Michael emitted a low, frustrated noise, scrabbling for the sink counter to hold himself upright.

He didn’t have to, it would turn out, Trevor gripping him by the neck and shoulder, manhandling him to lean against the sink. “There ya go, Mikey, there ya go. Just let your good friend T take care of you.”

If he knew any better, he’d say that Trevor sounded a little nervous. He kept his eyes closed and swallowed as he heard the distinct sound of the tap running, before a cool cloth touched on his forehead, wiped roughly down his face, to his neck. He even wiped off his hands, each finger, meticulous.

Michael licked his lips, repulsed by the sour taste of his own mouth, eyes sliding open only a fraction. Trevor seemed concentrated, the way he got on a job, entirely focused on the task at hand, cleaning him up like he was a big, filthy child or something. 

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. Under his breath at first, until he was almost crying with it.

Trevor’s eyes flicked to his face, sharp, brows furrowed. “Michael, you--” He stopped himself, hands shaking as he flattened one palm against Michael’s chest. “You’re not... mad at me, are you? This wasn’t because of--”

“No, T, I ain’t fuckin mad at you. Now, come the fuck here, you asshole.”

Michael swung an arm around him, too big for the room, uncoordinated. Trevor wheezed as he was crushed in his tight hold, rigid at first, before he slowly relaxed into it. His hand was still pinned between them, his nails digging into Michael’s chest through the thinness of his shirt. 

He set his forehead on Trevor’s shoulder, willed the world to stop spinning. This wasn’t the kind of night he had in mind. It wasn’t all bad, though. He belched under his breath, tasted acid trying to work its way back up. 

“Oh, so when _I_ want a hug it’s ‘oh _no_ , T, I couldn’t possibly hug you, I’m far too detached and proud for open displays of affection,’ but when _you_ want a hug it’s like a bishop bein’ released into a pack of nubile choirboys type of titty-bumpin’, ass-grabbin’ free-for-all.” He chuckled. “I see how it is, Mikey, you selfish fuck.”

“If you don’t stop sayin that sick shit I’m gonna puke all over you.”

“Hm. I could be into that.”

He swallowed. “You sure ‘bout that.”

“I’ll try anything once.”

“Yeah, well--” He swallowed, insides clenching, “--you’re gonna get your chance real fuckin’ quick.” 

He barely managed to swerve away as the vomit finally made its way out of his mouth, Trevor more or less manhandling him over to the toilet once more. He missed this time, vomit pooling warm and foamy on the peeling linoleum, some of it on Trevor’s hands, down his arm. If it was anyone else he’d be embarrassed, if it was _anyone_ else he’d have knocked them out already and fucked off rather than face them ever again.

Michael had seen hell in him, anyway. Trevor had said he wanted Michael’s worst, and he was damn well going to get it.

Besides, it wasn’t like he could run from himself forever.

Michael wiped a hand over his sweating face, breathed heavy. He stumbled back, his shoulders hitting the wall in the small bathroom with a thud. Trevor squared in on him, Michael reaching out for him, pulling him in closer. Trevor smelled like bile, like body odour and under that, like home. His teeth were sharp and welcoming.

His hand curled in hard around Trevor’s bicep. “You and me, T, right?”

“Yeah, Mikey, you and me.” His eyes dipped to Michael’s mouth, his thumb catching on the divot of his chin.

“Let’s get the fuck out of this place,” Michael said. “Let’s trash this fuckin’ piece of shit room, boost a car and light outta town. Right fuckin’ now. I’m fuckin’ sick of this place.”

Trevor grinned. “Now you’re speakin’ my language, M, now you’re fuckin’ talking!” 

He went to move, and immediately his gut lurched again, and it was like his legs went boneless underneath him. Trevor held him upright against the wall. 

“Maybe you wanna give it a minute, there, sugar.”

“Fuck you. I’m good, T.” He closed his eyes. Swallowed. “I’m good.”

“Damn right, you're good. You’re so much better than good.”

He opened his eyes, and they felt dry and scratchy as he struggled to focus on Trevor’s face. He felt a hand at his neck, a soothing motion, thumb moving back and forth over his jugular. Like trying to find the best place to slice him open, bleed him out.

Trevor’s eyes were shaking in their sockets as he looked straight through him. “I love you, Michael.” His nails dug into the back of his neck. “I love you.”

He leaned forward then, kissed him. Gently. The barest touch of their mouths together.

It lasted only a moment. Then, Michael slid a hand between their bodies, and pushed Trevor away. Gently.

Trevor didn’t say anything. He looked away. Michael didn’t make a move, beyond sighing, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. 

“Hey,” said Trevor, his voice hesitant and rough, “We could, uh-- it could be fun to carjack someone.”

He snorted. “‘Fun?’ That's your idea of fun. Christ almighty.”

It was actually pretty fun. Even though he hated how the ski mask made it hard to breathe, the guy shrieking and pleading for his life at the business end of his gun was pretty cathartic. Trevor pistol whipped him, knocking him out instantly, before he hooked his hands under the man’s armpits and dragged him out of the car.

They tore off together, left the man unconscious in a snowbank. Trevor laughed uproariously in the driver’s seat, and it was infectious. He pulled off his own mask and tossed him a grin, banging his hands on the dashboard. Fired up.

Michael didn’t bother looking back, didn’t bother with a glance. All he cared about was the road ahead. Just two guys looking for the American dream, two guys with something to prove. 

Trevor’s leg was warm under his hand. He didn’t seem to acknowledge it, maybe didn’t want to scare him off, but he hummed along with whatever noise there was on the radio. 

Michael looked out the window. He looked out at the snow in the night sky, and he didn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> HIGHANDHOLY.TUMBLR.COM


End file.
